Moods Of P

A walk through my words


February 2012

That Kind of Mother

I see his eyes caress her skin,

And follow her every room she walks in.

The look I know well,

It is the lust straight from the fires of hell.

My stomach churns and

My body shudders

For the one he lusts

 after is none other than

 my daughter.

He wants her with a lust

 that threatens his composure.

My own strains to

disabuse him of his need for “closure”

My stomach churns &

my body barely contains a shudder

 for the lust that he bears

 is for my pre-teen daughter

Her breasts have barely begun

to strain against her clothing

and her hips are just

 barely forming.

Please understand my horror

for his lust must be an error.

God give me strength as I hover

for I dread to be that kind of Mother.

I see his hand reach for

 her breast

and it is as though my lungs

 are under a test.

I desperately want to scream

but I’m caught in a very bad dream.

She jerks away, sure it is

a mistake

& I pretend not to notice for her sake.

I sense her discomfort

and I walk to wrap her in my arms to give her comfort.

I saw his eyes light up with interest

and my heart sunk that everyone else feigned disinterest.

My flesh, my blood, my daughter,

groped by a man who could be her father.

Bile rises from my stomach

as his lust with disgust

I watch in pain & heartache

 for at one point with him, her did we trust.

My soul cries out with despair

 and my hands grip my hair

 tears from my eyes fall

as I realize it was only a dream after all.

As I gaze at my sleeping lover,

I wonder, am I, could I be that kind of Mother?

My hands caress my stomach to soothe my unborn daughter.

God, I pray, let me not be that kind of mother.

I look once more upon my lover,

fast asleep in a land of wonder.

If he doubted our child’s claim,

would I worry about our family name?

My skin crawls at the thought

and my mind notes, all the things in this house he bought.

My skin turns clammy, as I realize our life would change since I can’t afford a nanny.

My heart breaks because I know she’d never eat cakes if we left my lover.

Poverty or my child's freedom
Poverty or my child's happiness? Credit

Sobs rack my body as I contemplate my unborn child’s fate.

Anger boils in my veins, damn it all these are just things.

I’d rather live in a hovel &

see my daughter dig dirt with a shovel

 than witness her hurt & shame

all for the sake of our family name.

With renewed strength I snuggle closer to my lover.

Finally, my stirring, he discovers.

As he asks me what is wrong

I know where I belong.

I will never be that kind of mother.


Featured post

Bleeds for Me

She bleeds for me

and I wonder why

He bleeds for me

but my tears are long dry.

She bleeds for me

but she didn’t see

that the blood she sheds for me

never really came from me.

He bleeds for me

worry etched on his face and very soul.

He bleeds with me,

as if we both fell through hell’s door.

Bleeding wound on finger
Image via Wikipedia

She cries for me,

for my wounds that I lay bare for all to see.

She cries for me,

for my past, as she reads the words I ask the world to believe.

While my words are meant to evoke the flames of fires burnt to ash not every voice that I speak with speaks of my own haggard past.To some this may make me a liar: forgive me  I just wanted you to remember that some remain(ed) in the fire.



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